Monday, June 15, 2015

A.j. Binash- Three Poems

“In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice.”

-Marquis de Sade

A Procurer faced a precursor

And declared to the wind; “Let’s go Nam!”

His rotund voice explored the complexities of Death Rattle.

A conversation served as a pinch in quantity,

A quality ignored

When a pro stuttered to a stimulated janitor.

Aesthetic relevance suspended on his tonsils

A rabble of vibrato

A language dead as a corpse

Stuck to the throat

Like a Money-Shot.

But his promises were loose change.

Found inside the sofa,

Underneath the vending machine

Where vermin scattered at the sight of fingers,

Because they knew he used his fingers

To vomit.

A Letter From a Luddite

1.

Under what conditions do diamonds fracture like secondhand earthenware?

And find detergent viable as saliva,

-Ah-Bubbles-

Inside this fracture

Where

Enamel once flourished (drool) (dish water)

But endurance diminishes,

What

-Once in a moment-

Belongs

There,

For the past dictates our comforts.

Phantom limb.

Phantom tooth,

I endure thy haunting!

Within the advice of comfort,

I find an answer:

“You’ll get used to it.”

But

Under what conditions is the progress of “Used to it” measured?

I tickle the phantom.

I lick the botched root canal

Like a clitoris.

With my tongue

Comes infection,

Comes human behavior,

Comes the lessons of greed,

Comes the directions of morality.

And so is a smile imperfect?

And so is inequality a necessity

When incentives control the progress

Of morality?

2.

She keeps a partial torso on the bed,

Poses her fingers underneath the lampshade,

To form a shadow puppet that narrates the darkness.

Bestiality becomes a fight for survival.

“Why does the light remain hidden?”

“Because the strength of richness comes from another’s fingers.”

There's No Editing Time

Durability

Stale as a mind on lithium.

And doesn’t America’s reflection

Scamper by in the car windows?

So bruising are unheard words.

That I translate mute language as ancient wisdom

Reliable like Confucius’ take on

Morality.

“What creates wealth

Creates jobs!”

But isn’t all time borrowed?

Thus when my hands grasp

Washington’s whipping hand

And the fingers Stalin held his cock with

It becomes apparent

We’re as old as memories allow.

Then it’s possible the instructions for morality

Have been forgotten,

Or

Ought to be.

I blink this thought until it focuses

On the vagabond standing in the median

With a cardboard sign, decorated in a request

For monetary gain.

A Prius passes him creating a gust

That takes the baseball cap

Off his head.

It floats like trash onto the ground.

I hold my breath and watch him bend

To pick it up, while a car almost clips his skull.

I wonder for a moment how I would feel

Watching a man die by an impromptu force.

Could the Prius driver be charged with homicide?

Or does morality forgive accidents?

Bio-

A.j.
Binash is a post-post-post-modernist poet from La Crosse, WI. He has
released two books of poetry one titled Cautionary Tales of an American
Boy Out Past Curfew (Rattlesnake Valley Publishing). The other is A-Okay
On Main St USA (independently published). He has also been featured in
the W.F.O.P. (Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets) Muse- Letter, Horror Sleaze
Trash, Talking Soup, Metaphor Magazine, among others.